#i was sitting through the monster monologuing about how the cruelty shown to it made it hate mankind

[youarenotthewalrus]

Read Frankenstein, and honest to God what it most reminded me of was JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, of all things. Maybe it's the melodramatic and ham-fisted writing and characterization. Maybe it's the way the plot was carried forward by contrivance and coincidence. Maybe it's the way that it was really compelling in spite of (maybe even in part because of?) these issues. Or maybe it's just because the antagonist was an incongruously well-spoken and superhumanly large man with long flowing hair.

[firekissedpiper]

— ✗ CHARADE

— ✗ Time Period: Late January, 2020.

— ✗ TW: Death, funeral, anti-religious thoughts, mentions of abuse.

Piper hated these things.

The ebony clad people, all sniffling and vying to try and show they were the most emotionally distraught. A dark way to think perhaps. But Piper had seen people. She knew people. And it wasn’t hard to be able to tell the crowd that’d shown up today was the type who would all be putting on the model worthy water works show. It was as if they were all ready to deliver a teary monologue on a soap opera. 

Every funeral she’d been to was like that. Elephant tears and couture gowns. As if the deceased cared about the new Louis Vuitton pumps of the season. She supposed that was just every funeral she’d been to with royals. Perhaps funerals for the common people were different. Maybe they were genuine. Maybe the person mattered more than their crown. 

Piper herself, was playing her own game of make belief. A tight lipped smile. Anyone knew she’d rather be scowling right now. Her straight posture, a regal pose that her mother would make some comment about if she was her. A black shirt combined with a skirt of all things. She was not Piper right now. She was just another sheep in the moment, hiding her true intentions, her true feelings. 

She was doing a lot of pretending lately. Pretending she wasn’t pregnant, pretending she was okay after murdering Tomas, pretending she didn’t love Gabel. She felt the slightest tremble within her stomach as the chaostrophic images flashed through her mind. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. Usually she’d rest a hand on her stomach, but the dress she wore barely concealed her bump now. The last thing she needed was the rumors.

“You look like a princess,” a voice purred from beside her. She looked up from her thoughts to see Gabel standing beside her. Even though that might have been misconstrued as compliment by anyone else. She could tell well enough by the amusement in his voice there was playful mockery mixed in. Sometimes she wondered what he’d say about her pregnancy, if he’d known. 

“Something important if I’m to blend in with the horde of mourning monarchs,” she retorted rather easily. She wouldn’t admit yet she was a mourning monarch herself, more genuine in her sullenness than she was ready to admit to herself.

“I never thought I’d see the day where you tried to be like other royals,” he purred, his trademark half-smirk on his lips. “May I sit?” He wasn’t usually this polite. It was probably an act, or maybe she didn’t remember him as well as she thought she did.

“And you’re any different, with the black suit and tie?” She jabbed back. A weak comment really. The brunette wasn’t exactly in the mood for the antics of the royal. 

“Well, father wouldn’t allow my funeral clothes to be anything different than traditional,” he commented, sitting down despite the fact she hadn’t agreed to such a thing. He crossed one leg over the other, making himself comfortable in his spot.

Piper settled back into her chair, fiddling subconsciously with the black skirt she was wearing. It was a rather loose fabric. It was soft - a good fabric for her anxiety twirling. When she was younger, her mother would shame her for such behaviors. Always complaining of wrinkles. Piper knew wrinkles were better than the other things she did. Thinking about the ways she used to pinch and press and pick at the scars on her burned hand made the old healed wounds ache once more. 

“You’re rather on edge,” Gabel noted, sounding very flippant. 

“Imagine that, given it’s a funeral and all,” Piper’s words dripped with sarcasm. Once upon a time, he had always done this. Whenever she was feeling the painful anxiety, or the fits of panic - when she’d often resort to destructive behaviors as opposed to dealing - he’d get her just irritated enough so she could let the cap off her emotions. He’d made her boil enough that steam would get out and she’d feel just a little relief. She missed it. She didn’t realize just how much he’d done until those months since their fight. 

“Well, does it really matter to you that much, surely very few people here actually care,” he pointed out, gesturing to the crowd. She looked around briefly. Some people were sat stone faced, others were pouring tears as if the pipe to their eyes broke and they simply couldn’t stop. She felt a stirring of hatred for those people. The ones making a spectacle out of this. It was usually something she carried very little about, but this time it mattered.

“I am not other people,” she remarked steadily, knowing that unlike most people, the guest of honor so to speak had meant something to her. 

“Here comes the family,” Gabel noted, taking her mind off the spiral she found herself going into. She didn’t know if that was the intention, or if perhaps her short attention span was starting to wear off on him. Hazel hues shifted to the left aisle of the church as she watched the family file in. They walked in perfect unison, looking fairly graceful and elegant. As was their job she supposed. Something about a united front.

Two females - both tall and thin and graceful. They looked like fairies, or what she imagined they’d look like. With their perfect figures and delicate features she could imagine if they couldn’t be princesses they’d one day have a career in modeling. Their almond shaped eyes glistened with tears. But in those chocolate orbs - the ones that almost appeared like molten gold with the sunlight pouring in through the windows - she could see past the feigned sadness. She could see the darkness coiling underneath. Despite their pretty forms she knew they were monsters. 

And of course, leading the group was a stone faced man. A perfectly trimmed grey beard, shaped to bring out a sharp jawline. Two accompany it was silver hair atop his head, trimmed and shaved into a rather smooth faded look, secured back with gel. He did not muster tears in the green eyes that might have looked so much like those of the deceased - but so much colder. No, he couldn’t pretend that much. Instead he appeared stone faced. The facade was layered, paired with an occasional lip twist as if he was holding back a well of emotions he was bombarded with upon entering the room. She didn’t hold back from staring at him. She knew the truth. 

Behind the three leaders of the family procession, were less defined members. They were quiet. She didn’t pay as much attention to them. After being greeted by the pastor, they all filed into the row. She knew the person who should have been resting in the empty closed coffin would have hated a church funeral. They’d hate the closed coffin too. 

“Burying an empty coffin like they actually care about the closure people claim to get. What a joke,” she muttered rather quietly. She didn’t want anyone else to hear her. Surely someone would make a big deal and she’d just contribute to the spectacle the tabloids would already be feeding on. “I hate this, wouldn’t you hate this?” She remarked, her anxiety showing in the hastily spoken words. 

“I do hate this,” he agreed briefly, his green eyes watching the procession rather carefully. 

Piper settled back somewhat, not enough to tighten her clothing and make the baby bump evident, but enough to try to become more comfortable. It was hard when she was as stiff as a wooden board, teeming with anxiety and wrecked with sadness. The brunette was having trouble concealing her emotions. 

It wasn’t two minutes after the family had seated themselves that the proceedings went on. The pastor took his place and began spewing as many lies as the people around them carried in each individual water droplet rolling down their faces. Lies of how the deceased took such comfort in God. It was a typical royal funeral. All the families were so tight in the religion department. It was like some royal tradition to worship one god or another. 

They were all told to rise. So she rose to her feet. The heels were uncomfortable as hell. It’d taken what felt like ages for her to try and find a pair that fit over her swollen feet. Pregnancy was such a pain. She couldn’t wait for the next six months to pass so she might finally be able to fit in her usual shoes. She was certain the pumps weren’t helping either honestly. But it was all part of the image, all part of blending in so it wasn’t so obvious that she didn’t belong with the crowd of imitation mourners. 

All at once, she tried to pay attention to both the crowd and the polished wooden coffin that sat in front of her. She took the opportunity of the closed eyes and bowed heads to see who actually seemed upset. Maybe she was just protective, or maybe she just knew the way these royal families were. Trying to slit each other’s throats one moment and then crying at their funerals the next. She hated this world so much.

Things were moving fairly quickly, at least it felt that way. It seemed like just a moment ago she’d been walking through the right aisle and tucking herself into one of the pews in the back. Now she was halfway through the service. A glance at the ornate clock told her it’d been more than a few minutes that had passed. Time just felt like it was moving faster. Moving too fast, to be correct. 

“Almost over,” Gabel chimed beside her, not bothering to whisper. It wasn’t as if he’d be noticed anyway.

When the pastor was done speaking, it was time for the eulogies. There were two. One from the cold man in the suit, the one who’d been making her life Hell for months. And then one from one of the beautiful monstrous pixies. She’d never met either, but she heard enough. Aside from the visitors, she knew enough about the others in the room. She’d been told stories of even the common people delivering cruelty to their crowned heir. 

She grit her teeth to hide her rage, so she could pretend like she wasn’t disgusted as the King put on the show of his life. If she did not know better, she would have believed that the deep creases in his face had been caused as he mourned for his former lover, for his wife, and now for his child. If she did not know better she would believe the words that sounded so sincere from his lips. But she knew better, and she knew that the words that dripped of honey and sincerity was just a way to disguise the venom that his mouth so often spilled. The spoonful of sugar that was meant to hide the foul taste of a bitter medicine. 

People around her fed right into it. Perhaps they believed him, or perhaps they were in on the act. Perhaps they were all just puppets, posing for the cameras that were no doubt televising this event. Somewhere in front of her she heard the first person break. Real or feigned? She didn’t know. She was starting to spin herself. Anger and crushing waves of melancholy had turned her brain into a tornado, picking up the chaotic emotions and the pieces of thoughts that came with it. 

She managed to stay silent. But she didn’t hide the fury and judgement in her eyes. She almost dared him to look at her. But he didn’t. He probably didn’t even know that she was hearing, judging him as he made a mockery out of his child’s funeral. It was a good thing she hadn’t brought Kaia or Ella. They shouldn’t have seen her like this. She was practically shaking.

“It’s infuriating isn’t it? He’s quite skilled at deception,” Gabel commented absently. His voice sounded faded.

Finally, the man stepped down from behind the podium, not before letting one tear slide down his face. So calculated. She understood the struggle now. Soon, one of the perfectly preened princesses rose from their seats. Tall and elegant, they glided up to the podium, as if it was a fashion show and not a funeral. She supposed that wasn’t so atypical. Most royals turned every walk into a runway when they had the chance to. 

The speech she delivered was far more heart wrenching, filled to the brim with childhood stories and memories. Tearful sentiments about losing her mother and now her brother being gone too. Piper knew a twisted lie when she saw it. The others in attendance believe it. But Piper knew the truth. She knew this girl had been just as much of a monster as the shark in the starch white suit. 

When the woman who presented herself broke down in tears near the end of her speech, claiming her brother now rested in Heaven with her mother, the rest of the church lost it too. So they wept, as if they had not been been complacent in the torture of the one who they claimed was now in Heaven. They wept as if their torment had not crafted the broken boy who sported the moniker of monster because he would rather be feared and hated than loved. 

Finally, she walked down the steps and headed back to her seat too. Piper was relieved when the pastor took over. Even his jabbering was easier to listen to than that of the family of serpents. The closing sentiments included a hymn and some spoken words of the deceased resting with god now. She wasn’t really listening by that time.

“That was a charade, wasn’t it? I suppose you’re not any better though,” Gabel commented rather glibly, amusement dancing on his features. 

Piper reeled from that comment. She stumbled to find the words to speak, a way to respond. “I am better,” she said quickly, dismissing his words. 

“You are sat pretending as if you’re clean. As if you’ve never inflicted just as much damage as they did. You act better, and angry. But the word monster left your lips too. Near the end you hated him too,” he said, as if he was saddened by that. And while he’d been hurt, Piper knew he was rarely one to show sadness. Anger was the first resort for Gabel.

“I didn’t mean it. It was a mistake, I was damaged,” she said rather quietly, almost embarrassed. It was one of her biggest regrets, calling him a monster. She still hadn’t forgiven herself. Her throat was starting to feel thick and dry, like she hadn’t had water in months. But the tears in her eyes told another story. “I miss you,” she whispered quietly. “There are so many things I want to tell you,” she said the words rather weakly. 

“You had your chance to do that, but you didn’t,” he told her. 

Piper had a hard time getting a handle on her emotions again. She was trying to stop the falling tears. For so long she’d been able to hold back, to not cry about what had happened. To not cry about what she lost. She didn’t even realize that the funeral had ended. People were starting to leave. Finally, a voice pulled her from her spiral. 

“Is anyone sitting here?” It was a rough voice, old and weak. But someone soft at the same time. She looked up to see an elderly woman gesturing to the seat behind her. “It’s hard for an old lady to make their way around these seats you know.” 

“Yes, it’s available,” Piper said, looking at the empty seat beside her. No amount of wishing, daydream or imagination was going to fill that seat with who she wanted it to be. No amount of memories could make it so she could really hear his voice again, or take in his scent. 

The elderly lady sat down alongside Piper, huffs and puffs leaving her as she did so. “It was a beautiful service wasn’t it?” The woman asked.

“Yes, lovely,” Piper didn’t share her true opinion. It wasn’t going to gain her any popularity among this crowd. Aside from that she couldn’t tell if this woman was testing her or was genuine. 

“How did you know him?” The woman asked, looking over at Piper with a soft expression. 

“Who?” She asked. She knew who she was talking about, but she needed to hear it. She wouldn’t be able to convince herself it was real until she heard it. 

“Prince Gabel, God rest his soul.”